


The Eyes of the World are Upon You - ON HIATUS

by divinedarkness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awful AU, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bisexual Malia Tate, Language of Flowers, M/M, Malia Tate is not Peter Hale's Daughter, Multi, Non-Alpha Laura Hale, Past Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Somewhat, Sort Of, Soulmate AU, Stiles and Scott are Step-Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-03 13:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinedarkness/pseuds/divinedarkness
Summary: Based on “Awful AU # 196” from Tumblr: “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the 'girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft' and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard” auStarted off this simple and then took on a mind of its own.....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys I know that in a lot of fics people paint Stiles as wanting to be a cop like his dad or anything where he’s directly arresting people and fighting crime, but I can’t help thinking that he would be more interested in the backside of things, of gathering intelligence and then figuring out what it means and how best to use it.
> 
> Also, the group did go through some of the stuff in the show while in high school, but not all of it. Some things have been tweaked so they happened for different reasons than Derek and his family being around.
> 
> Title is from a quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower.

It was a couple years ago that I first noticed the garden.

It was in the yard of a house that was once abandoned. Now, though, it was repainted and any damage to the foundation seemed to be fixed.

You see, every year, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I walk to Beacon Hills cemetery.

I bring her flowers and sit and talk to her for awhile. I tell her what’s going on in my life, how my friends are, how my dad is I’ve always taken the same route.

I was at a low point that year, low on funds and unsure where my life was headed. I was broke; both financially and mentally.

I hadn’t had a chance to get my mom any flowers, and felt incapable of dealing with the things important to me. I saw that house, though, and felt an unexplained surge of hope.

I had my pocket knife with me, and knowing it was a bad idea, I stepped into the strangers yard.

I went over to the garden and started taking some of the prettiest flowers I saw. I noticed that the garden was themed, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

Feeling satisfied that I had a good amount of flowers, and that no one had caught me, I continued on my trek to the cemetery.

That night when I was lying down for bed, it hit me. The flowers in that yard, they were all significant. They all meant the same things.

Deep dark crimson roses, red carnations, cyclamen, gladiolus, purple hyacinth, and zinnias. In the language of flowers, they all mean regret, remembrance, mourning.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that all of these flowers existed in the same garden. The owner of the house must have lost someone.

That, of course, made me feel like more of a shitty person.

After that day, I continued to use the flowers in that person's yard every year on that same day.

The sheriff’s son in my brain told me it was stupid, that anyone would recognize the pattern and wait to catch me in the act.

I didn’t listen.

The other side of my brain tried to rationalize it. Things like, ‘hey they keep planting these same flowers, it’s destiny,’ or, ‘who’s going to care that much if someone is taking flowers from their garden.’

Which I knew was utter bullshit. This is all ignoring the fact that I at least felt like an asshole for my actions.

Either way, I still trespassed onto that poor souls yard these three years later.

I walked up to their garden and grabbed out my knife, thinking I would yet again get away with it.

And that’s when I heard a door bang open and someone shouting at me.

I shoved the knife back into my jacket pocket as fast as I could, and turned to greet what I assumed to be the owner of the house.

It was a man. When I looked him over, the only thought that ran through my head was, ‘damn.’

Dark facial hair, tanned skin, sharp cheekbones, piercing green eyes. He was tall, and he was fit.

He wore thick rimmed glasses, an expensive looking sweater over a collared shirt, and dark brown slacks.

My type; obviously gorgeous and hard to get.

“What do you think you’re doing,” the man asked, stalking towards me.

“Admiring your garden,” I lied, “I see that you have read up on the language of flowers.”

I could see that it was not what he expected me to say, as he looks surprised for a moment, before schooling his features back into contempt.

“You were trying to cut them, though I don’t know why someone would be stupid enough to try,” he comments, clenching his teeth. Busted.

“Me? Stealing? Never. Seriously, I think your flowers are cool man. Not many people are into them around here,” I continue to lie, hoping to charm myself out of the situation.

He looks at me incredulously, the anger on his face morphing into a look of superiority.

“Oh. I see. You have no malicious intentions then, but you are still stealing,” he smirks, his eyes lighting up. This is bad.

“They must be for a girl then. I guess I’ll just have to come with you. She better be special enough to warrant flower theft, and not just you trying to get lucky,” he gives me a pointed look.

“Um, dude, that’s not really necessary. I don’t need the flowers, I’ll just leave and we never have to see each other again,” I panic.

“Nope, you’re taking these flowers, and I’m going with you,” he states, not giving up.

“Okay I guess,” I squeak out.

How can I explain to him where I’m actually going? How does one explain that they were trying to steal flowers for their dead mother? ‘I guess he got the girl part right,’ I think bitterly.

Should I tell him now? Should I wait until we get to the cemetery, just to make a point? Who even is this guy?

For all I know he’s taking me through the woods to murder me. All over some flowers.

“So, what’s your name,” I ask nervously, figuring I might as well know in case he tries to kill me and I’m able to get away.

Judging by his physique, though, it’s doubtful I would.

“Derek,” the man simply states.

The name seems familiar. I try and think through the Derek's I know.

There’s that one Derek that lived in my building freshman year, the Derek that’s in my mythology and folklore class, that statistics professor Derek.

Nope. Gotta narrow it down to Beacon Hills.

Carding through my memories of highschool, I remember a Derek.

From what I gather of my memories of him, he looked like a younger and more awkward version of the man walking beside me right now.

“Derek Hale,” I ask quietly.

He stiffens before replying with a soft, “yeah.”

We continue to walk in silence.

I’m still worrying about how I’ll explain this situation, and also geeking out a little at the fact that I’m walking beside Derek freaking Hale.

I was never able to get to know him. He was 3 years older, and moved out of Beacon Hills when he was 16.

He left after his family home caught fire.

I grew up hearing all kinds of gossip and conjecture.

All I know? He was a ridiculously good basketball player, handsome and popular but with a nerdy side.

There were people that thought it was his fault that the Hale house caught fire.

I tended to ignore those people, as I've never been a fan of victim blaming.

“So what brings you back to Beacon Hills,” I ask, trying to break the silence.

“I’m not sure. I guess I was getting tired of New York,” he replies flatly. I can’t help but snort.

“I get that. Busy cities can be rough. I’ve been living in L.A. for a few years now, and while there are pros, there are definite cons,” I reply airly, trying to continue the conversation.

“So what brings you back to Beacon Hills,” he mimics sarcastically, just as we reach the gates to the cemetery.

“I guess I get to show you,” I sigh, waving for him to follow me.

He looks a little confused, but as I start walking through the headstones in an unconscious path, I can see recognition dawning.

“This is why I’m in Beacon Hills, and this is why I tried taking the flowers from your yard,” I wasn’t about to tell him that I’ve been doing it for years now, “and yeah, she is special enough.” I smile sadly, gesturing at my mother's headstone.

“Claudia Stilinski. You’re the Sheriff’s son then. Stiles,” Derek recalls.

“Yeah,” I reply, scratching the back of my head.

“Look, I’m sorry about trying to take flowers from your yard. I guess now that I know why you have those specific flowers planted, it seems even more rude to take them,” I apologize, disappointed in myself.

Derek’s looking at me inquistively, no longer mad. I can see some pain in his face too, though, a lingering sadness and understanding.

‘Just go for it Stilinski,’ I think.

“Let me officially apologize. I’ll buy you dinner, or something” I offer, internally freaking out. I can see him start to think it over.

His eyes dart to my mother’s headstone, and the wilted flowers that are left from last year.

“Okay,” he replies, eyes coming up to meet mine. I try not to freak out a little.

“Cool. Is there anywhere you want to go, any place you particularly like,” I ask, nervous.

“Not really. How about you pick,” he suggests.

“Okay, how about you meet me at the 6th Street diner at 7 pm,” I offer.

“Sounds good. I’ll get going then, give you some alone time with your,” he pauses, “mom.”

I nod, looking down at her headstone.

I hear the sound of air being sucked in, and when I look up, Derek has a soft look on his face. Then he turns around, walking back towards his house.

If I stare at his ass as he walks away, no one needs to know.


	2. Chapter 2

I was nervous, there was no doubt about that.

Even though he agreed to let me take him out to dinner, I still had fears that Derek Hale severely disliked me.

Not everyone has to worry that someone hates them because they stole their garden flowers, which now that I think of it, sounds like some terrible metaphor for sex.

I probably change outfits at least 3 times, and am annoyed that I can’t get my hair to cooperate with me.

I finally give up on my hair, and settle on a pair of fitted dark wash jeans and a dark red sweater.

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication in my opinion.

I slip on my loafers, mentally thanking Lydia for teaching me to dress better, grab my keys, and head out the door to my vehicle.

Unfortunately, it’s not my jeep from high school, which broke down my sophomore year of college. It’s still a jeep, though.

As I drive to the diner, I begin to panic.

Am I setting myself up for disaster by thinking of this as a date?

Who knows if he even likes guys, let alone if he would like me specifically.

I’m a very specific type.

He is Derek. Broody, withdrawn, hot as hell, Derek Hale.

What would he see in someone like me? Chatty, no filter whatsoever, lanky college student Stiles Stilinski.

Not to mention the part where I’m still convinced he hates me.

Even if he said yes to dinner, who would say no to free food?

Once I do get to the diner, I park and sit in my car for a few minutes, trying to gather myself.

I see that the diner isn’t very busy, and Derek is waiting for me inside.

He’s sitting at a booth alone, looking over the menu.

The waitress brings him a glass of water and smiles flirtatiously at him.

She sits down across from him and begins chatting him up.

I can see Derek waving his hand towards where she’s sitting and then waves his hand towards the window.

He’s saying something to her, I just can’t figure out what it is.

A look of disappointment crosses her face as she gets up and struts away.

Did he tell her to move? That he was waiting for someone to come sit there?

It shouldn’t be that flattering, but I can’t help feeling a little giddy. 

Steeling myself, I get out of the jeep and walk into the diner.

I look around, like I don’t know exactly where Derek is sitting, until he gives me a slight wave. Acknowledging him, I walk over to the booth.

“Hey,” I greet him, sitting down in the booth across from him, “I see you made it here before me.”

“I wasn’t waiting that long,” he assures me, furrowing his brows.

I study him for a minute, deciding I should tell him something I’ve been thinking since we met.

“You know, I remember you from high school. You seem…” I choose my words carefully, “different. 

I can tell he’s thinking that statement over, considering it.

“I guess so. I was unhappy in high school. When you’re a teenager, it’s hard to figure out who you are, and who you want to be,” he explains vaguely, sipping at his water.

That’s when the waitress comes by and takes our orders. When she goes to walk away, she just happens to brush her hand over Derek’s forearm.

I can’t help but chuckle at her behavior.

“So tell me about you,” Derek startles me out of my thoughts.

“There’s not really much to know,” I reply sheepishly, always uncomfortable when people ask me that question. 

“I’m sure there’s something,” he continues to prod, “you mentioned that you live in L.A.”

I’m surprised he remembers that comment.

“Yeah, I go to school there actually. UCLA. I’m studying Computer Science and Information Sciences. I’m in my junior year."

"After I graduate I’m hoping to get a job with the FBI as an intelligence analyst. Though, I wouldn't be opposed to being a private investigator either,” I explain, hoping I sound somewhat interesting and not like the boring person I know myself to be.

“That sounds cool, you don’t often hear about people being interested in that kind of data analysis. Do you like L.A. then,” he asks, looking genuinely interested in what I’m saying.

“It’s not too bad. It can get really busy and congested, and you don’t see celebrities as much as people think you do, but it’s a pretty unique place to live."

"It’s even more nice since I’m able to be there with some of my friends from Beacon Hills,” I smile.

“I live with the three of them; Scott, Kira, and Lydia. Scott is my best friend, and also my step brother. My dad and his mom got married our senior year of highschool. He’s working his way up to applying to a Veterinary Science program, so he’s studying Biology at UCLA.”

“Kira is his girlfriend since junior year of highschool. They’re honestly perfect for each other. Kira is on a lacrosse scholarship at the University of Southern California. She’s studying Biokinesiology."

“Lydia is my other best friend. We’ve been competing since middle school. She’s the smartest person I know."

"Full scholarship to study math and economics at UCLA. I’m positive she’ll become the next woman to win the Field’s Medal,” I drabble on, unaware of Derek’s eyes softening as he listens to me speak.

“So Kira goes to USC by herself then? Doesn’t she find it kind of lonely,” Derek asks, surprising me with his concern.

“Well, she probably would, but thankfully we had other friends from Beacon Hills that made the journey south. Our friends Erica and Boyd, a couple, both go to USC, as well as Kira’s best friend…Malia,” I explain, pausing before the last name, “those three live together.”

“Do you not like Malia,” Derek asks, studying me.

I sputter. “No, no it’s not like that. The opposite actually. I dated Malia for awhile, but we broke it off about a year ago."

"We’re still able to be friends, thankfully. She’s dating someone else now,” I explain.

Then, surprising me, Derek offers up some information about his family. 

“One of my sisters is in college too. She’s about your guys’ age. Cora."

"She goes to school in New York, at the Fashion Institute of Technology. She’s always had this dream of getting her gowns on the runway at Fashion Week,” he smiles at this, obviously having a lot of love for his sister.

“Awesome! Yeah we have some friends in New York too. Allison and Isaac, they go to Columbia."

"Allison used to date Scott, towards the beginning of high school. They eventually figured out that they just didn’t have much in common. Allison and Isaac, though, they have heaps in common.”

“Allison is studying Industrial and Civil Engineering. Isaac is studying Astronomy and Geology,” I explain, drabbling on about my friends.

“Wow, I’m impressed. It’s incredible that you guys have maintained your friendships, being so far away,” Derek remarks, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, we have a …,” I look for a good way to explain pack in human terms, “close bond, you could say.”

This is when our food arrives, thankfully ending that conversation before I say something revealing.

We eat in silence, but my mind is racing.

What started out as a simple dinner to apologize has turned into me blurting out my whole life story.

Talking about how close my friends have stayed through college, which I know is not normal behavior to most humans.

I don’t know what it is about Derek, but I feel like I can be honest with him, that I can tell him anything really.

From someone as guarded as me, and someone involved in the world of the supernatural, that’s saying a lot.

He’s probably sick of me talking at him.

Most people are.

When we are done with our food, I should ask him about himself, make the conversation less one-sided.

Though, as much as I keep telling myself he’s annoyed, he hasn’t really seemed that way.

He seems...intrigued almost.

Which in and of itself is odd, as nobody is ever really intrigued by anything I have to say.

When I look up to see if he’s close to done, I notice he’s looking at me.

“So where do you work,” he asks, catching me off guard.

“What,” I ask, surprised by the sudden question.

“How do you make rent,” he asks, cocking his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, yeah,” I laugh nervously.

“Well, I was working at a small tea shop near campus. Unfortunately, I guess tea isn’t very on trend with the college crowd."

"What looked to be a promising company turned into a business failure, so I was laid off,” I explain, twirling my straw around.

“So what are you doing now,” Derek asks, cocking his head to the side.

“I’ve kind of been doing odd jobs for awhile. Some handy man stuff; nannying, dog walking, I even did some modeling for a startup company."

"That, of course, was Lydia’s idea,” I shake my head, laughing at the memory.  

“Did you not want to do it,” he asks.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to, per say, it was more like I didn’t think I would fit their brand. That I wasn’t model quality I guess,” I laugh, scratching the back of my head.

“I think any company would be lucky to have you as part of their brand,” Derek states like it’s the most simple thing in the world.

‘Does this mean he’s calling me attractive,’ my brain wonders.

Not wanting to make assumptions, I get back to my thought process on asking him questions about his life.

“So, what was New York like,” I blurt out suddenly.

“It was different...louder,” Derek replies, pondering the question, “there were more places to eat, more sights to see, and if Cora were here, she’d say more places to shop.”

I can’t help but laugh, as Lydia says the same thing when comparing Beacon Hills and L.A.

“So why come back? With what happened to your family...” I trail off, feeling bad that I brought it up,“... I figured Beacon Hills would bring back nothing but bad memories.”

“I’m not quite sure. New York was great for awhile, especially my time at NYU, but then it just started feeling wrong."

"I started thinking of Beacon Hills, a place I hadn’t thought of in a long time. Before, all it held were those bad memories,” he shrugs his shoulders, looking saddened.

I decide to take the plunge.

“Well I’m glad you did. Come back, that is,” I smile, looking him in the eyes.

I hear a soft growl, one that he tries to disguise as a cough.

Interesting.

Now that I think about it, a lot of his behaviors are much like Scott’s and the rest of the pack.

Tilting my head to the side, I can’t help but study him more closely. Since first meeting him, there have been a few things that I’ve noticed.

When he first came out of his house to meet me, I could have sworn his eyes were a shade much like Scott’s and the rest of the packs, a bronzy golden yellow.

I didn’t take much notice to it at first, thinking it may have been the sun hitting my eyes.

Odd that a werewolf his age would shift his eyes in such a public manner.

Some of his general mannerisms give him off too.

When he smiles, his mouth reminds me much of a wolfs.

Lips pulled back and sharp looking teeth sticking out.

Scott says it’s a way to scare someone away without them consciously knowing you are dangerous.

He cocks his head like a wolfs, like he’s trying to hear the most quiet of sounds.

He often breathes in air, like he’s scenting it.

And then there’s the growl of course.

These are things that a regular person wouldn’t take much notice of.

For me, though, a person involved in the supernatural world since I was 16, they’re obvious.

I wonder if I should say anything.

I’m sure he can smell Scott and the other’s on me, as they always make sure the humans smell like pack.

Territorial puppies, I call them.

I know through Scott and Deaton that there are various packs of wolves throughout the country, that California is home to dozens alone.

I’m also aware that sometimes omegas come through the area, wanting to seek refuge or cause problems.

In our experience, it tends to be the latter.

Derek, though, seems well mannered, and doesn’t have the feel of an omega to him.

A lone beta then? It’s rare, but not impossible.

We finish dinner in silence, my mind racing with a million questions about this ‘intruder.’

Even though he seems nice, the emissary-in-training inside me sees his unannounced appearance as a threat.

“I had a nice time tonight,” he states, interrupting my thoughts, “maybe we can do it again, if you’re back in town.”

“Maybe,” I reply, wanting to get away as fast as possible.

This is followed by a period of awkward silence.

Thankfully, the bill comes a few minutes later, saving me from stabbing myself with my fork.

I reach out to grab it but Derek gets it first.

"Hey! This is supposed to be an apology dinner," I sputter, confused.

"You can pay next time," he smiles devilishly.

I frown, getting up out of the booth.

“I have to go now,” I rush out, turning and walking fast towards the exit.

I hear a growl behind me, but I don't stop.

I get in my jeep and drive home.

I go to bed fuming, upset that there’s an announced wolf in Scott’s territory, and more so that I didn’t sense it as soon as I got to town.

First thing in the morning, Deaton will hear what I have to say.


End file.
